Another Heaven
by SlowQuotesQuill
Summary: AU. He met, befriended, and fell in love with her who was the daimyo's daughter. However, when, for honor and for the future, the tide of war separates him from his lady love, fate destroys all bridges connecting them. Perhaps, they could only meet again as equals in another circumstance... in another time... under another heaven. Oneshot.


**Another Heaven**

* * *

_Now our eyes call out for each other over the pain  
__Fate discovered our bond  
__In the world overflowing with fragile things  
__I just want to call the fact that I was able to meet you "eternity"_

—**Another Heaven**, Itou Kanako (trans.)

* * *

He was eight years old, and the early blossom of the spring of was fresh upon his cheeks.

Kamiyama during the fourteenth century was a merger between the aristocrat and the lowly farmer, the daimyo and the peasant, and the radical and the traditional. The slow plains spread leisurely as they undertook the journey to the Chitandas', the donkey plodding along on sorry hooves, while the boy that he had been back then walking beside it, the cart trailing behind them slowly.

He knew that Chitanda-dono was a good man, but hard on himself and on others. He also knew how he wanted the rest of his clan to uphold tradition yet embrace the coming of the modern, and somehow, it seemed abstract to him, the concept of the new versus the old.

He was a child.

The Chitanda house was huge, a traditional Japanese house that was surrounded by a vast yard. The garden was mostly on one side, but there were also scattered trees and beds of flowers and a pond on the other side. He looked around eagerly with huge eyes as the servants led them from the gate to the main door of the actual house, admiring the sakura and the birds that flew above the trees.

They were shown to a huge room, the boy instinctively identifying the proud man on the high seat in the front dais as Chitanda-dono. He was wearing a casual padded kimono since the matters to be discussed are rather trivial compared to other problems, but it did not lessen the intensity of his presence. And so the eight-year-old meekly bowed low on the floor when his father did so, keeping silent all the while.

The great man bid them to rise and take their seats, and father and son did so, the talk straightforwardly turning to the matter of the cost of this year's planting and some such matters. The young Oreki looked around with only his eyes, careful to not move around so much so as to not distract the two men. The conversation, however, was not very much to his interest, so it was with great hesitancy that he began to turn his head this way and that, looking at the great statues that flanked the high seat and the scrolls with strange characters painted on them, and the sword hung on the right wall. He could not read nor understand what he was seeing, but their colors seemed very beautiful to his young eyes.

Twenty minutes into the talk, a low-pitched whistle from the wall behind him made him turn with a puzzled look, surprised. However, he saw nothing that could have produced the noise—just a stretch of blank wooden wall, after all. But when he turned his attention back to the conversation, and tried to make of the conversation as best as he could, it came again—a whistle that could have come from some strange bird. And when he looked back once more, he caught a glimpse of a girl, no more his own age, peeking through a partition in the wall, her eyes looking straight at him.

He started at this strange scene, and turned hurriedly to see his father and Chitanda-dono looking bemusedly at them two. Abashed, he murmured his apologies for being distracted. However, the great man did not seem to be angry at his inattention. Rather, he called the girl to his side.

"This is my only daughter, Eru," he told the Orekis, and they bowed to her as well. "And as she is the only child in the house, perhaps it would do good if you"—the finger pointed at him!—"accompany her for a while. We'll talk of more important matters at this point, things that young children like you should not hear as of yet."

And so was their first meeting and introduction.

* * *

She was seven-and-a-half years old, and the breeze of spring blew her short black hair behind her as she looked inquisitively at this young boy beside her.

The pond was alive with the gold-flecked fish, the lone turtle sunning itself on a rock that rose above the water. The flowers shed their petals on the surface, making occasional ripples whenever they made contact.

"What's your name?" she ventured, shyly, not able to keep her curiosity to herself. The silent boy seemed rather surprised at her sudden question, and looked away for a bit before answering.

"Oreki," he muttered, as bashfully.

It wasn't every day that the daughter of your father's lord came to talk to you now, was it.

"Your given name?"

He hesitated, glancing at her to see if she was indeed in earnest. She stared back, bright eyes interested.

He tugged the sleeve of his thin yukata nervously. "Houtarou."

"Hou-ta-rou?" She pondered for a bit, and then led him to a bare patch of earth that was readied for planting. She wrote clumsy katakana on the soil with a stray stick, and straightened up with a smile, proud of her work. "Like this?"

He felt embarrassed at his ignorance. He never had time for any formal studying… and he didn't think they can afford education even if he had. "I—I don't know."

"Really?" She looked thoughtful rather than amused. Then she seemed to think of something else. "Do you know what my name is?"

"Your father just told us that, didn't he?" he replied, puzzled.

"Well, you forgot?" she asked him.

"No! No…" he mumbled. "Chitanda… Chitanda Eru…"

"Hehe~" She smiled softly, which flustered him more than her knowledge of his illiteracy. "You do remember… I'm glad."

"Mm." He scuffed the ground with his sandal. "It's easier to remember than my name."

"Not really. Houtarou's a nice name as well." She took him by the hand, suddenly, suddenly. "You can call me Eru."

"I can't," he protested, remembering, and breaking away. "You're Chitanda-dono's daughter…"

"Who cares?" she asked simply, and it was when he understood.

"Then…" He introduced his hand forward, and she met it halfway, little fingers placing themselves on his small palm, her kimono sleeve fluttering in the wind. "E—ru…"

* * *

He was twelve years old, and the hot flush of the summer was torture on his skin.

"Hurry, hurry."

She was beckoning him on, excited at the prospect of sneaking out and coming at the festival without an adult for the first time. Slightly infected by her cheerfulness, he gave in to her energy, and they sprinted through the fields, her brightly-colored yukata a beacon in the darkness of the night. The lanterns that lit the way didn't seem half so bright when she was in the scene, it seemed.

"I couldn't believe you're this excited over some small-town festival," he told her, albeit he was also enjoying this as well.

"I guess so." She smiled, an angel in the evening, and his breath caught. Even with all the beautiful artworks in the Chitanda house, she certainly outshined them all tonight in his opinion, a concoction of porcelain wrapped in blue and purple silk to bring out her amethyst-colored eyes. Her hair was a dark, starry river down her back.

"Even after about four years of being friends, you certainly always reveal surprising things about you every year," he said, and they exchanged smiles.

"You as well, Oreki-san," she said, and then the sound of the drums on the distance became louder, signaling that they were now within reach. She gasped and slowed them down to a walk, his hand clasped in hers in friendly camaraderie.

It was warm, but why was it that her skin against his was so deliciously cool?

"Ah, Oreki-san!" She feasted on the sight as they finally passed the first line of streamers, the drums beating rhythmically and the people in a generally festive mood. Children passed with their mothers, while men talked loudly among themselves, either of their crops or of the rumors of the impending wars from the south. He shuddered at some of the things that he accidentally overheard as she wandered around and tugged him along. He wished that even half of their stories were false.

"Oreki-san, look!" She was pointing to the goldfish-scooping stand, and he smiled hesitantly when she told him eagerly that she wanted to try. Acquiescing like always since he knew she could be stubborn at times like these, he let himself be pulled over, watching the kids and the kids-at-heart crouching low at the basin of water to try and catch the slippery fish with fragile paper scoops.

"I'd like three scoops," she told the keeper, and paying for them, she carefully crouched down next to a kid who looked thoroughly annoyed at finding that his seventh scoop was already spent.

She looked up at him, her face scrunched up in a determined expression. He would have liked to laugh, but he knew that she was being deadly serious.

"Wish me luck, Oreki-san!" she announced, her hand tight on the handle of the paper scoop.

"Good luck," he replied, to satisfy her.

And so she tried her best, but three scoops spent later and she was wondering what she might have been doing wrong. Houtarou told her, hastily stifling a smile at the look of childishness on her face, that there was a trick to holding the scoop so that the fish won't slip through.

"Show me," she demanded, buying another three scoops, and he knelt down beside her, extending his arm in an angle, and successfully caught one, quickly transferring his poor victim in the other container.

"See?" He stood up, and after asking her if she wanted it (the reply—"no, let me catch one by my own energy, Oreki-san"), let the fish swim away again by pouring it back to the large basin, too disinterested to keep it. She watched it with wistful eyes, and then spent the next minutes trying to and failing.

"I'm quite hungry," she announced when she gave up, accepting the fact that it wasn't really her forte.

He eyed the stands around them, and she pulled him off once more, each and every attraction and food item in the festival tried and tasted, her insatiable curiosity growing at every step as they continued.

All in all, they were enjoying themselves so much that he was surprised when a strong arm suddenly wrenched him back, and he looked up at the stern face of his father.

"Don't do this ever again," his father said harshly, tugging him back so hard that he protested in pain. "You should never put her in danger again."

"Danger?" he repeated dumbly. Beside him, Eru looked confused as well, her eyes wide.

"It's the daimyo—"

Whispers.

"Father…" She saw the eyes of her father look disapprovingly at the pair of them before sweeping up Eru before him in the saddle of his horse, beckoning his men to follow him back. However, he nodded at Houtarou's father, and with the meeting of their eyes, the child read something that scared him even more than his father's sure punishment later.

And even as the festival broke up, he could hear the ominous whispers following him.

"War is descending upon the land, Houtarou," his father is saying as they went. "The safety of the Chitanda clan would ensure our own survival. And you will not endanger the life of the heiress by helping her escape the eyes of those who are protecting her. Understood? You are not to let her in these kinds of places again."

He did not admit it, but he did not understand why she should be locked up like a doll in a doll house in the first place.

* * *

She was fourteen-and-a-half years old, and the heavy oppression of the summer heat had already dried up her tears.

"What would it be for today, Eru-san?" her little maid asked her, as she wandered over to the selection of light kimono in various shades of blue and purple and green, with patterns of different summer wildflowers. With only a thin white robe covering her newly-bathed body, she surveyed her clothes dully, her hand smoothing over the silks and cottons.

"I'd like this, Aya," she decided, and slipped on a yellow nagajuban patterned simply with little goldfish and a blue kimono with little violet flowers. The little maid secured the red obi around her, and with deft fingers finished the outfit. Her long hair was left flowing down her back, as was her wont.

"Where is Oreki-san waiting?" she asked, absently, as she looked in the mirror.

"Waiting by the pond, Eru-san," was the answer of the girl.

"I see."

The walk was short, and she saw him standing on the edge of the pond, watching the fish swim in the water as was usual. He was already undergoing several growth spurts, the slight roundness of his face giving way to the slender lines of young adulthood. He looked strong, and healthy, and as sturdy as a tree, as his parents had wished for him by naming him such. _Houtarou. _

She smiled at the sight of his slumped shoulders—he never did learn how to stand energetically like other farmers' sons—and whistled the three notes that were familiar to them both, the notes that made him notice her in childhood.

"Oreki-san…"

He turned, and she stared into his grave green eyes, which held more seriousness of thought than of the average fifteen-year-old. She did not know what to feel, but decided that she should be happy at least.

"Chitanda." He had taken to calling her by her last name ever since the festival three years ago, and even though she was glad that their fathers had treated the case as an isolated incident—given Houtarou's apparent carefulness in treating Eru—the fact that Houtarou had since put her at arm's length made her, frankly, bewildered. Although, since she was also used to calling him by his last name as a pet name of sorts did register itself in her mind. "Sorry, I was late."

"I thought Fukube-san was coming."

"Who? Satoshi?" Houtarou frowned a bit. "Mayaka pulled him off before either of us can react, so I just left without him. I don't want to bother looking for him, I had been running late as it is."

Eru laughed slightly, imagining the scene that he had described. "I see. Then it can't be helped."

They went back to the house, talking about their day—Houtarou's sentences short and clipped, as was his custom, while Eru's were extremely detailed without prompting.

"You know, Oreki-san," she said finally, as they went to part, "sometimes I wish I'd been born a boy so that I can contribute something freely to the peace of the people."

"Don't," Houtarou told her simply, looking down at the ground. "If push comes to shove, then I'll fight for you in your stead. Just… remain safe."

"Ah?"

"Nothing!" He blushed, and looked away from her big, shining eyes. "I'm going."

"Have a safe trip," she called back, and it was with a light note that they separated.

* * *

He was sixteen years old, and the fleeting winds of the fall turned into memories in his head.

"What?" he said, gaping slightly, as they prepared the dinner table that night, the gathering cold chilling him even with his padded clothes.

Or was it just the shock of the news?

"Be grateful, son," his father told him, a tired smile on his lips after seating themselves and saying grace. "Chitanda-dono has added you to the list of the boys that he will send to defend the territory. You'll be given the chance to train in the military, and bring honor to the family."

"Isn't that great?" his mother said, even as she tried hard not to look anxious. But she rarely ever fooled him, not even now. He dared not comfort his mother in front of his father, though. He just smiled weakly and agreed, his brow heavy with thought as he bowed and stared at his rice.

He could only think of her, she who was called the daimyo's daughter.

And the first second after the rest of the family had already fallen asleep, he was already up and sprinting to the direction of her house, his breaths catching after a distance. He remembered about the officers that might have been patrolling out for those brave enough to violate the curfew, but he chose to not care instead, the slapping of his sandals against the ground the music that accompanied him.

And he was again slipping through that secret hole in the garden walls and making his way past the pond just outside her room, knocking three times at the wall and whistling the familiar three notes to alert her that it was him, and that it was urgent.

She opened the sliding walls, her mind still numbed with sleep. However, she saw him kneeling down on the _engawa_ before her and she was instantly awake, all the suspicions of this being a dream pushed off her mind.

"Oreki-san?" she whispered, looking down at him innocently, softly. Her white sleeping robe clung to her figure, slightly shivering as the night breeze swept.

He looked away, still in silence.

"Is there a problem? Why did you come over here at this time of night?" she said with a worried look, and he mentally shook himself. He'd practically given the tidings of his bad news away.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ah?" She put her hands together, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

"If you weren't a Chitanda, and I wasn't an Oreki," he began, hesitantly, "would all of these have happened?"

"What do you mean?" she said quite sadly, and he knew that she didn't really need to ask the question.

"Chitanda… no. Eru." He stood up and found that he was now taller than her, unlike when they were still kids, when they were still of a height—when they still thought that they were constantly equal. "I'm going to become a soldier," was what he said, simply.

"I understand." She looked up at him, and they both saw the tear in her eye that wanted to fall.

"Will you wait for me?" he asked, in a tone that a child would have used, and she smiled through the haze.

"Of course," and standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him under the moonlight for a brief, bitterly cold moment.

* * *

He was seventeen years old, only seventeen years old, and the snows of the heavy winter assuaged them in the hard battle.

They might have been lost already right from the start, but he fought hard, and harder, his heart forgotten in the bloodthirst as their side took one and another, a chain of one-sided deaths. But that was before it was too late, and the trap descended upon them like a chasm of death.

In terror, he knew that they had been betrayed. Taken by the rear, the army spiraled down into chaos, restraint forgotten. He couldn't have admitted it earlier, but now he was certain of the fact. He was frightened, afraid of dying.

He was young, and the winds buffeted against his frozen cheeks.

Screams.

Horrors.

Horrors twice.

_"Get them!" _

He slashed left and right—the bulky rifle was forgotten—

Screams.

Lives.

Lives lost.

The knife fell from frozen fingers.

_She is waiting. _

"Take thaaaaaaaat!"

He backhanded one, but got assaulted by another.

"Take this one out!"

The red splashed.

_ Chitanda is waiting. _

"Chitandaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he heard someone scream.

Perhaps it was him.

He cried.

_Wait for me. _

The bayonet had cut off the rest of his voice.

He was just a boy.

The silence reigned at last.

* * *

She had grown wise over the years, and yet, the sting of first love was still there. He was always young in her dreams, always tall and strong, always living up to the promise of his name.

His eyes were as green as the fresh rice plants in the fields that she had grown to love so much.

"Eru-san," her attendant called her, and she turned obediently to the sound, her eyes in a state of permanent mistiness. She could feel the young hands raise her up, though, and she smiled as she finally stood up straight, the heavy kimono attempting to drag her back down.

Her little maid (_—no, she had grown up and married long ago, right? This is a new one, right? But it was so easy to forget when you cannot see reality—_) was quick with her fingers as they unlaced her obijime and let the heavy obi fall down before hastily scooping it up again. Eru let the rest of her kimono fall down until she was in the innermost thin white robe, letting the girl pick up the pieces without a word. The breeze with the heavy scent of the cherry blossoms wafted in, and she wondered how something could seem so cold.

"Aya-chan," she called her little maid to her, "bring me my warmest blanket."

"My name is Mayu, Eru-san," the girl meekly replied, draping the heavy wool over her shoulders.

"Oh." She felt regret at having her world shaken by the simple correction. "Mayu, right, right." She felt for the nearest topic. "How is your brother, Mayu-chan? I hear he's decided not to take over the land."

"He decided to fight for the army, milady," Mayu answered quietly, and Eru frowned.

"Decided? Why should anyone want to?"

"They say that it's richer down south— they say that it's something to be able to fight for the country—"

"But it's dangerous," she said, and remembered how quickly the news flew to Kamiyama from back then.

_"He's dead." _

_ "I'm so sorry, Eru-chan."_

Mayu seemed calm, though. "It's quite easier now, they said. The Western technology…"

"Easier?" Eru dropped her head. "Believe me, Mayu, it's never that easy, For the dead, and for those who were left behind."

The girl remained quiet. Eru wondered if she was crying silently as she felt her get up and leave the room stiller than before.

The rustle of leaves.

"If I can but see him again," she murmured, maybe to the wind, or simply maybe to herself, "I'll never let him go again."

The strike of bamboo against stone seemed heavier in her slumber.

* * *

"_Good afternoon. You're in the Classics Club too, right, Oreki-san?"_

_ "Who are you?"_

_ "You forgot? —__I'm Chitanda… Chitanda Eru."_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

* * *

Just something short and bittersweet. I had the concept of a Sengoku!Kamiyama ever since I've seen the last episode of Hyouka, and I don't think I've executed it well in this... A rather fail attempt at cliches. xD I do agree with Plato saying that what remains in the mind is perfect.

And it's badly inaccurate. But this is fiction, so what the h-e-double hockey sticks. We have license to make "stretchers".

Oh well. Reviews make me write more and motivate me to practice more at writing. Feedback on this experiment! Ja!


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